Кэндес Бушнелл – The Carrie Diaries and Summer in the City (страница 13)

“They are?”

“Come on, Carrie. You’re a girl. You must know that.”

“I think most girls are pretty interesting. I mean, they’re a lot more interesting than boys. Boys are the ones who are boring.”

“Am I boring?”

“You? You’re not boring at all. I just meant—”

“I know.” He moves a little closer. “Are you cold?”

“I’m okay.”

He takes off his jacket. As I put it on, he notices my hands. “Christ,” he says. “That must hurt.”

“It does—a little.”The palms of my hands are stinging like hell where I’ve scraped the skin. “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me though. One time, I fell off the back of the Kandesies’ truck and broke my collarbone. I didn’t know it was broken until the next day. Lali made me go to the doctor.”

“Lali’s your best friend, huh?”

“Pretty much. I mean, she’s been my best friend since we were ten. Hey,” I ask. “Who’s your best friend?”

“Don’t have one,” he says, staring out at the trees.

“I guess that’s the way guys are,” I say musingly. I check my hands. “Do you think we’re ever going to get off this roof?”

“Do you want to get off this roof?”

“No.”

“So don’t think about it. Someone will come and get us eventually. Maybe Lali, or your friend The Mouse. She’s cool.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “She’s got her life all figured out. She’s applying early admission to Yale. And she’ll definitely get in.”

“That must be nice,” he says with a hint of bitterness.

“Are you worried about your future?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“I guess…But I thought…I don’t know. I thought you were going to Harvard or something. Weren’t you in private school?”

“I was. But I realized I didn’t necessarily want to go to Harvard.”

“How could anyone not want to go to Harvard?”

“Because it’s a crock. Once I go to Harvard, that’s it. Then I’ll have to go to law school. Or business school. Then I’ll be a suit, working for a big corporation. Taking the commuter train to New York City every day. And then some girl will get me to marry her, and before you know it, I’ll have kids and a mortgage. Game over.”

“Hmph.” It’s not exactly what a girl wants to hear from a guy, but on the other hand, I have to give him points for being honest. “I know what you mean. I always say I’m never getting married. Too predictable.”

“You’ll change your mind. All women do.”

“I won’t. I’m going to be a writer.”

“You look like a writer,” he says.

“I do?”

“Yeah. You look like you’ve always got something going on in your head.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“Kind of.” He leans over and kisses me. And suddenly, my life splits in two: before and after.

CHAPTER EIGHT The Mysteries of Romance

“Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He said I was interesting. And a character.”

“Did he say he liked you?”

“I think it was more that he liked the idea of me.”

“Liking the idea of a girl is different from actually liking a girl,” Maggie says.

“I think if a guy says you’re interesting and a character, it means you’re special,” The Mouse counters.

“But it doesn’t mean he wants to be with you. Maybe he thinks you’re special—and weird,” Maggie says.

“So what happened after we left?” The Mouse asks, ignoring her.

“Lali came and rescued us. He went home. He said he’d had enough excitement for one evening.”

“Has he said anything since?” Maggie asks.

I scratch a nonexistent itch. “Nope. But it doesn’t matter.”

“He’ll call,”The Mouse says with confidence.

“Of course he’ll call. He has to call,” Maggie says, with too much enthusiasm.

Four days have passed since the barn-painting incident and we’re dissecting the event for about the twentieth time. After Lali rescued us, apparently The Mouse and Walt did come back, but we were gone along with the ladder, so they figured we got away okay. On Monday when we showed up at school, we couldn’t stop laughing. Every time one of us looked out the window and saw 198 and that big red splotch, we’d crack up. At assembly that morning, Cynthia Viande referred to the incident, saying the vandalism to private property had not gone unnoticed, and the perpetrators, if caught, would be prosecuted.

We all snickered like little cats.

All of us, that is, except for Peter. “Can the cops really be that dumb?” he kept asking. “I mean, they were right there. They saw us.”

“And what did they see? A few kids standing around an old dairy barn.”

“That Peter guy—geez,”Lali said.“He’s so paranoid. What the hell was he doing there anyway?”

“I think he likes Maggie.”

“But Maggie’s with Walt.”

“I know.”

“She has two boyfriends now? How can you have two boyfriends?”

“Listen,” Peter said the next day, sidling up to me in the hall. “I’m not sure we can trust Sebastian. What if he rats us out?”

“Don’t worry. He’s the last person who’s going to tell.”

Hearing Sebastian’s name was like a skewer to the gut.

Ever since the kiss, Sebastian’s presence has been like an invisible shadow sewn to my skin. I cannot go anywhere without him. In the shower, he hands me the shampoo. His face floats up behind the words in my textbooks. On Sunday, Maggie, Walt, and I went to a flea market, and while I pawed through piles of sixties T-shirts, all I could think about was what Sebastian would like.

Surely he’ll call.

But he hasn’t.

A week passes, and on Saturday morning, I reluctantly pack a little suitcase. I look at the clothes I’ve laid out on the bed, perplexed. They’re like the random, disjointed thoughts of a thousand strangers. What was I thinking when I bought that beaded fifties sweater? Or that pink bandanna? Or the green leggings with yellow stripes? I have nothing to wear for this interview. How can I be who I’m supposed to be with these clothes?

Who am I supposed to be again?

Just be yourself.